


One Hundred Eleven

by Ashevan



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 18:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16708102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashevan/pseuds/Ashevan
Summary: Patrick just wants to get some sleep.





	One Hundred Eleven

**Author's Note:**

> An idea popped in my head the other day and I wanted to quickly write some Peterick fluff for it, so here it is!

It’s been a month and Patrick can’t take this anymore. 

Just about every day that has passed by, Pete has found some way to burden Patrick with work he didn’t feel like doing that day, making up some of the lamest excuses Patrick has ever heard in the history of excuses. He’s heard quite the number of them, too.

He lets out an exasperated sigh, feeling himself sink farther into the couch cushions with each passing breath. His eyelids feel so, so heavy; it takes half of Patrick’s energy just to keep them open.

Patrick hasn’t slept in two days and is smart enough to know he won’t get a wink more anytime soon, even if this seems to be the perfect time to take a quick nap. The apartment is silent, still, and peaceful. Patrick has grown quite comfortable curled up in his blanket. The warmth is comforting and feels himself phasing in and out of consciousness. Maybe...just maybe.

He could close his eyes…

“Patriiiiiiiiick!” A familiar voice calls out, each step he takes into the living room like landmines exploding, one by one. Patrick merely lets out a groan in response, covering his head with the warmth of the fuzzy blanket.

“I don’t want to move,” Patrick whines quietly under his cloak.

“But, I  _ really _ need your help with this.”

“No.”

“Please, Trick?”

“I said no, Pete.”

Silence follows, a glimmer of hope growing in Patrick’s chest. Had he been granted liberty at long last? The reward of slumber, it seemed far too appealing to Patrick that he grows giddy. It doesn’t last for long.

“Okay.” Pete finally responds in  _ that _ tone, followed by a disheveled sigh. Patrick can picture the dejected look on Pete’s face. It was far too familiar, and he could swear he’s seen it in his nightmares. “I’ll...just...be in my room...alone…”

Patrick groans, ripping the blanket from his face and sitting up, his strawberry blonde hair no longer tame.

“What do you need help with this time?” He inquires irritably. Pete hasn’t moved towards his room at all and has in fact approached the couch as though anticipating the current outcome. Patrick isn’t too surprised himself.

\--

It’s been three days since Patrick has gotten any kind of sleep and he feels disgusting. Every part of his body aches and all he wants to do is sink into the comfort that is his mattress and pass out. More importantly, he does  _ not _ want to have to help Pete with some random chores he was more than capable of doing himself.

His glazed eyes stare mindlessly out the window as Patrick takes in the beautiful silence. These moments are the gems Patrick has grown to appreciate, though he wishes he could sleep through them instead.

Patrick feels a weight on his bed and suddenly he needs to throw up.

“Good morning, Sunshine.” Patrick can hear that grin of Pete’s through his words. He chooses not to respond and shuts his eyes as though it would shoo Pete away. A beat passes by before Patrick feels a hand gently grips his shoulder.

“Patrick?” Maybe if he stays like this long enough, Pete will think he’s asleep, though it seems unlikely he’d give up so quickly.

The warm, comforting touch on Patrick’s shoulder begins to shake his body back and forth.

“Stop ignoring me, man. I know you’re not asleep.” Well, there goes that idea, though another one takes its place. This one seems like it’ll be more effective.

“Pa-” Pete’s cut off by the sound of Patrick’s coughing, shaking his whole body. He feels himself grow a bit pale in worry, moving his hand up and down on Patrick’s back.

“Sorry, I’m just-” Patrick lets out another cough, groaning tiredly afterward. “I’m not really feeling too great today.” 

“Yeah, no kidding. You don’t sound too hot.” Pete bites down on the edge of his bottom lip, rubbing circles into Patrick’s back for a little while longer.

Guilt begins to weigh down on Pete’s chest, because, damn. It’s only now Pete comprehends the number of times he’s asked for Patrick’s help with something recently only to find out he’s pretty sick.

“Let me just check your temperature real fast, okay?”

“Pete, people don’t always have a fever when they’re sick.” He knew that. Pete isn’t stupid. It did bring him a small amount of joy, as though he was a professional doctor of some kind, but that wasn’t the main reason for this. Patrick never stayed in bed like this when he was sick unless he felt like  _ absolute _ shit. Besides, he’d rather be safe than sorry.

“I just want to make sure it’s nothing  _ too _ serious. We can’t have you leaving the band so soon, now can we?” Pete doesn’t receive the response he’s looking for, though he’s almost certain he just couldn’t see it.

“I just rolled my eyes, by the way.” There it was.

With a grin, Pete rises up from the bed. He stops in his tracks at the sound of Patrick calling his name.

“Can you get me some tea too, please?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” Patrick doesn’t see the smirk on Pete’s face, nor does he see as it quickly fades away. He lets out a large sigh of relief as the door swings shut, relief flooding through his body.

Finally. For once, Pete is doing something for  _ him _ .  _ He’s _ not the one who has to run around to every CVS to find the specific brand of glitter pen Pete wants or walk to the grocery store every day just to see if they had pizza bites in stock yet. It almost feels liberating in a peculiar way. Patrick wishes he could appreciate the feeling more, but right now he has some other things to worry about.

The door creaks open once again, startling Patrick into letting out another fake cough and a sniffle to mix things up. He hears the clink of a mug on the night table beside him.

"Alright, open up, Mr. Sickman.”

“U-uh, actually, could...could you just get me some soup? I picked some up the other day.”

“Yeah, right after this.” Patrick lets out a quick sigh to himself.

“Fine.” Pete's fingers trace Patrick’s jawline, guiding his chin up before inserting the thermometer under his tongue. Patrick’s mouth gently closes down on it and Pete leaves him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Soup?” Patrick nods his head, his eyes glued to Pete as he exits the room once more, every step feeling slower than the last.

After what feels like years, the door clicks shut. Patrick yanks the thermometer out of his mouth as quickly as possible and places it into the cup of tea. It was a classic move. With Pete’s history of pranks, however, Patrick was more than sure Pete would catch on, but this was worth a shot if it meant he could relax. Honestly, this whole thing seemed like more work than Patrick intended. Maybe if he had just informed Pete he really needed a break, Pete would have understood but with the familiar click of the door, Patrick grows aware it’s a little late. He quickly pops the thermometer back into his mouth as Pete re-enters, soup in hand.

“Hey.” Pete smiles, eyes occasionally glancing up at Patrick, then quickly sticking back onto the bowl of soup. He places the bowl of soup next to the cup of tea, sitting back down on Patrick’s bed.

“How’s that temperature coming?” Patrick releases his grip on the thermometer, allowing Pete to retrieve it and read the side.

“Shit, Trick.” Patrick feels his face grow a shade of red. He can’t tell if it’s due to the guilt or the back of Pete’s hand up against Patrick’s forehead, his other hand now wrapped around the back of Patrick’s neck.  “Shit.” He repeats himself again, causing Patrick’s heart to race.

“Is it...is it that bad?”

“Dude, you’re-I gotta, like, call the hospital or something. You’re at one hundred eleven.” Patrick feels the color drain from his face as the words leave Pete’s mouth. How was the tea  _ possibly _ that hot? Was there lava in it, or something?

Pete begins to bolt off the bed, held back by a firm grip around his wrist.

“Y-you don’t have to call, Pete, I’m actually starting to feel better.” Pete’s face remains sober and he just shakes his head.

“Don’t start with that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit, Patrick.” His voice cuts Patrick’s chest, Patrick’s hand recoiling back to his body. “I’m calling.”

“Pete, wait, I was just-” The door slams shut before Patrick can finish his sentence.

“-joking.” He can make out a faint mumble on the other side of the wall. Yanking the covers off of himself, he jumps out of bed to meet the doorframe and leans his ear against the door to make out the one-sided conversation more clearly.

“Yeah, he’s got a fever of one hundred eleven….No, I just found out today….No, I don’t think he was.” Patrick’s heart is booming out of his chest, his back hitting the door and sliding down. He pulls his legs into his chest and attempts to comprehend everything going on right now. How did something so small manage to grow so out of control in only minutes? All he wanted was a day off, a day of relaxation, and instead, he’s going to end up in a hospital bed.

Patrick feels the door abruptly shove into his back before scrambling to his feet, allowing Pete to get through to him.

“Get back in bed. You need to rest.”

“Pete, can I just-”

“Bed.” Patrick sighs angrily, throwing himself into bed and yanking the covers back over himself in frustration. Pete places himself on the edge of the bed, his hand on Patrick’s thigh.

“They should be here in a couple minutes, so just-”

“I’m not sick.” The room falls silent and suddenly Patrick feels worse than before.

“What?”

“I just-I just faked it, okay? I was tired of having to do all your bullshit for you every day, and I haven’t slept in three days, and...and I was just fed up, and I’m sorry.” The room falls silent again which is the last thing Patrick wants right now. He needs a response from Pete, some kind of acceptance, maybe even an apology in return. He just needs something. Anything at all.

“You faked it.” Pete’s words are cold, his arms crossing over his torso. He doesn’t even look at Patrick as he responds.

Patrick slowly reaches out to put a hand of Pete’s shoulder. The moment it makes contact, it’s rejected with a swift slap.

“I was really worried, you jackass!” Patrick tightens up as he sees merely a flash of Pete’s fist heading straight towards his face. He wouldn’t die by a fever, but at least the ambulance would still have a reason to visit.

The impact is replaced with two arms wrapping around Patrick’s body pulling him into a warm embrace. Patrick is frozen, a muffled voice in his ear setting fire to his body.

“Gotcha.” Patrick is speechless. He wants to punch Pete in the face. He wants to shove Pete away and cry. He wants to bring Pete closer to him. Pete’s laugh fills the emptiness after a few moments.

“You didn’t think I’d fall for the thermometer trick did you?”

“Well, no...not really.” Patrick can feel his ears glowing a bright red in embarrassment as he burrows his flushed face into Pete’s chest. He can feel Pete’s hand run through his hair, washing away the troubles of previous events.

“If I was making you do too much, why didn’t you just say something?”

“Sorry.” Pete pulls Patrick away, his hands moving down to Patrick’s waist.

“Hey. Look at me.” Pete frees one of his hands to pull Patrick’s jaw up. He can see how hard Patrick’s trying to hold back his tears, a couple escaping down his cheek.

Patrick’s sight is blurred, though he can still make out Pete gently thumbing away his tears.

“Just let me know next time. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Patrick nods again lightly.

“I know.”

“Good. Now scootch.” Patrick obliges, allowing Pete under the thick bedsheets. He flinches once Pete’s frozen feet come in contact with his own.

“Why are your feet so cold?” Pete only chuckles. He locks his arms around Patrick’s waist, pulling him closer. He burrows his head into Patrick’s back. Patrick only kicks at the bassist’s feet in response.

Everything is still, quiet, and warm once again, only better this time. The rise and fall of Pete’s stomach against Patrick’s back has slowed, and Pete himself has grown still. A few minutes prior, Patrick had surrendered the cold foot war, though he didn’t mind. Pete’s toes had warmed up slightly anyways.

Maybe now....just maybe…

He could close his eyes…

“Pete. Pete!” Pete sleepily groans, adjusting his head against Patrick’s back, sending sparks through the vocalist’s chest.

“Mm?”

“What about the ambulance?” It had slipped his mind up until now that Pete had previously called the hospital. Patrick can feel his stomach beginning to tangle up in a knot. “That you called earlier?”

“I didn’t call the hospital, you goober.” Patrick lets out an audible sigh of relief, feeling the last of his apprehension slip away from his being. He can feel the sensation of Pete’s lips against his back while he laughs, his one hand swimming through the sheets to meet Patrick’s own. Their two hands interlace with one another, and everything feels beautiful.

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I know.” Patrick elbows Pete’s torso in response, causing him to let out a yelp.

“I love you too, Shorty. Now get some sleep.” A kiss lands itself on Patrick’s neck, silencing his mind from any last worry or stressful though contained in his mind.

Finally.

He can close his eyes…

…and fall asleep.


End file.
